


Love is a Bitchslap

by shadyst0ner



Category: Eminem (Musician), Machine Gun Kelly (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Break Up, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eminem, Choking, Degradation, Friends to Lovers, Glam Rock, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Spit Kink, em is emotionally constipated, hair metal, idiots to lovers, inspired by the dirt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadyst0ner/pseuds/shadyst0ner
Summary: 1980's glam band au inspired by The Dirt and Em's Bret Michaels costume.
Relationships: Colson Baker | Machine Gun Kelly/Eminem
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. Ten Seconds to Love

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist:  
> 1\. Ten Seconds to Love - Motley Crue  
> 2\. Piece of Me - Skid Row  
> 3\. Rocket Queen - Guns N Roses  
> 4\. You're Invited (but Your Friend Can't Come) - Vince Neil  
> 5\. Get the Fuck Out - Skid Row  
> 6\. Saints of Los Angeles - Motley Crue  
> 7\. Looks That Kill - Motley Crue  
> 8\. All I Wanna Do is Fuck (Myself Tonight) - Steel Panther  
> 9\. Mr. Brownstone - Guns N Roses  
> 10\. (Love is) a Bitchslap - Sebastian Bach & Axl Rose
> 
> (or search love is a bitchslap on Spotify)

Colson swore under his breath as he fumbled yet another note of the riff he was playing. Marshall was driving him fucking nuts tonight. Maybe it was the heavy buzz from the bottle of Jack he'd been tossing back the entire show, but it was hard to keep focus with the sleazy blonde in front of him swinging his hips so temptingly. Marshall knew what he was doing- the groupies on the floor reaching desperately towards him, grasping for the silver chain that dangled from his neck. He'd stripped from his fur coat halfway through the show, revealing smooth, firm pecs. The stage lights were hot, and a thin layer of sweat glistened over his toned body as he smirked into the mic. Colson could see everything from the amps, but his attention was diverted from the crowd to the way Marshall's assless leather pants clung to his fair skin. He wanted to sink his teeth into the flesh so badly. Wanted to leave bruises all over the blonde and watch him squirm beneath him. Wanted to hear him moan for _him_ , not for whatever random bimbo waltzed into his dressing room. Wanted, wanted, wanted. 

_Fuck._

Colson shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slinking up behind the other man. He found himself burying his nose into the junction of Marshall's pale neck, grinning when he felt the shorter man's body tense up slightly. He heard him stumble over the song's final note as he raked his nails down his bare chest, leaving a trail of red marks behind. 

"Asshole," Marshall huffed into the mic with a laugh, "you ladies wanna do me a favor and take this fucker home tonight?" He was rewarded with loud screams from the girls below the stage, turning to wink at Colson. The taller man promptly rolled his eyes and pretended to be more focused on the fretboard of his guitar. He couldn't help but laugh at Marshall's antics. 

If the guitarist thought about the way Marshall would feel under him as he played the solo that opened their next song, then that was his business. Nobody else would ever know.

* * *

Cracking open another beer bottle with his switchblade, Colson eyed his vocalist from across the room. The rest of the guys were either shoveling lines of coke up their nose or banging it out with some chick in a storage closet. From the way Marshall was sweet-talking this curvy brunette across the bar, Colson assumed he'd picked the latter. He glared in the woman's direction, taking a slow sip of his drink and swallowing bitterly. There was a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy? Possessiveness? Hell, maybe he'd just gotten too fucked up. He wouldn't even think about the dumb twink after a good night's sleep...right?

Fuck, who was he kidding? Marshall was the only thing Colson thought about lately. He stared into the bottle in his hand and watched the contents swirl around inside. The brunette poured the rest of the beer down his throat, slamming the glass down on the counter. He couldn't watch this shit. Colson tugged his leather jacket over his shoulders as he skulked into the back alley behind to bar to light up a smoke. He fumbled with his lighter a few times, hissing when he burned his thumb as the cig finally sparked up. What the hell did that bitch have that he didn't? _Well_ , he thought, _tits, for one._

And that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Marshall would probably punch him out if he knew. He'd heard him before, talking about how much he hated _fags,_ how he _couldn't fucking stand seeing those cocksuckers in public_. It wasn't anything Colson hadn't heard growing up before. It just made him feel dirty, thinking that his best friend would hate him if he really knew who he was.

Colson broke from his thoughts, tossing the burnt-out cigarette butt to the ground. From the way he was shivering, he assumed he'd been standing outside a lot longer than he thought. The sudden heat of the bar made his head spin as he made his way inside, but he didn't disregard the shots on the table next to him. He lifted one from the tray, pouring the liquor down his throat, and tossed the plastic shot glass over his shoulder. That was the least of his worries. 

Even in his drunken state, he noticed the brunette Marshall had been chatting up earlier under the exit sign across the room. The vocalist was nowhere to be seen. Shit, had anyone been keeping tabs on him? Colson felt stupid for standing outside so long. Everyone knew that Marshall had no off switch. He'd drink himself sick (as he often did) if Colson wasn't around to stop him. He'd spent many sleepless nights by the blonde's side making sure he wouldn't roll onto his back and choke on his own puke. 

After checking a handful of rooms and broom closets, Colson stumbled into the bar's grimy bathroom. He winced at the way his eyes reacted to the flickering light above the mirror. Marshall was on the floor in an unlocked stall, back to the metal panel as he nursed a bottle of vodka. He glanced up at Colson with a drunken, shit-eating grin.

"Hey."

"You're fucking wasted," Colson grabbed the bottle from the blonde man, an unimpressed frown on his face.

"So're you," Marshall pointed out, struggling to stand up until Colson wrapped an arm around his waist.

"What happened to the chick you were with?" he teased, changing the subject. "You say some dumb shit again?" 

"Me? Nah."

Colson scoffed, stroking the pad of his thumb along the small of Marshall's back. The booze coursing through his veins was giving him dumb ideas. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when _Marshall_ leaned up to kiss _him_. The lanky guitarist could taste the cheap vodka on Marshall's tongue, biting at his soft lips. Sure, he'd kissed plenty of girls before, but the difference between their sticky, breathy, lip-gloss kisses and the mouth on his right now was drastic. The vocalist's lips were smooth and warm as he worked his tongue into Colson's mouth. The taller man groaned when Marshall reached out to wrap an arm over the back of his neck, tugging him closer as they kissed.

Colson paused to catch his breath before leaning in to leave sharp bites and apologetic kisses on his neck, pressing him up against the stall door as it swung closed. Marshall reached behind him, blindly fumbling with the lock for a few seconds before it clicked into place. Thumbs pressed bruisingly hard into the blonde's hip bones, Colson reconnected their lips to cover up the sweet little noises Marshall would make when Colson's teeth grazed his skin.

The guitarist's brows furrowed in concern as the shorter man pushed at his chest, but as he watched Marshall sink to his knees he was suddenly hit with realization. Colson sucked in a sharp breath when the vocalist stopped to nip at the toned v line that peeked over the top of his pants.

"Tease," he grumbled in a low voice, dragging his fingers through Marshall's blonde locks and forcing him to look up. Marshall smirked, continuing to unbuckle the brunette's heavy belt and sliding the tight leather pants down his hips. 

"Commando huh?" Marshall purred. "That's pretty slutty, Colson."

"Yeah? You're one to talk. You wearing a thong under those skanky fuckin pants?" Colson glanced down just as those plump lips wrapped around his cock, sending an electric shock up his spine. " _Ah, fuck_ ," he gasped, letting his head drop back against the wall. "Fuck, love your mouth," Colson panted. "You done this before?" His voice was tense as he spoke, eyeing the blonde on his knees. "Sucked off some douchebag in a shitty stall like a cheap whore?" Marshall pulled away with a sharp scowl. 

"Shut up and fuck my throat."

He didn't have to ask Colson twice. The guitarist curled his fingers in bleach blonde hair, sliding his cock back into the other man's mouth with a quiet groan. He started to rock his hips deep and slow, legs trembling at the tight, wet heat of Marshall's throat. Colson knew this would be over embarrassingly quick as he watched the blonde gag on his cock. The brunette sped up his thrusts, desperste to get off at the sight of his bandmate on his knees, drooling around his dick, eyes brimming with tears.

_"Shitshitshit_ ," Colson nearly whined, voice cracking slightly as he gasped his bandmate's name. "Marshall-"

He was so close. Just a few more strokes and then-

Suddenly the vocalist was pulling away again. "Want you to come on my face," Marshall panted out, wrapping his hand around Colson's spit-slicked cock and stroking agonizingly slow, tearing a moan from the guitarist. The brunette's hips twitched as Marshall sped up his strokes, pumping his shaft and lapping at the tip of his dick with a skilled tongue. The hand in Marshall's hair tightened as Colson forced his head back, coming all over pink lips and flushed cheekbones.

Breathless, the guitarist's long fingers stroked at Marshall's jaw before forcing him to his feet. He dragged his tongue up the blonde's cheek, swallowing the mess he'd made. Their eyes met, tying a knot in the pit of Colson's stomach. Then they stood there, staring, catching their breath, before Colson was tugging his pants up and shoving his way out of the bathroom and into the crowd of drunken musicians and groupies alike. He shouldn't have done that.

What a huge fucking mistake.


	2. Strutter

Marshall felt like he was suffocating in the trashy, cramped room their record label called a studio. Drunken and dazed at eight in the morning, he knew he needed at least a few lines in him or another full day of sleep before he could make it through this session. He and Colson had done this take over and over again, unable to nail the solo, or the bridge, or whatever other minuscule fuck-up that Paul had noticed. The blonde was ready to throw down his headset and take a nap in the janitor's closet at this point. Hearing a knock on the glass that separated them from the control panel, the two men halted their attempts once more. 

"Let's go again, boys," Paul spoke into Marshall's headphones, mimicking a repeat motion with his finger. The vocalist scoffed as he turned to face their producer.

"I'm just tired of singing the same thing ten times in a row when it was fucking fine the first time," Marshall complained.

"I mean, you coulda done better on that one part," Colson suggested. He raised his hands in mock surrender at the threatening look the shorter man shot him. Today had been a living _hell_ of a session. Colson refused to even look at Marshall for the first half-hour of recording. He left the room when the other man was near, but now he was critiquing his vocals? As if he'd done any better. It wasn't Marshall's fault he couldn't hear himself over the shitty licks the guitarist was playing anyway. 

"Oh, _I'm sorry._ You mean the part that you decided to change ten minutes ago?" the blonde argued back, temper flaring. If he had to look at this dumb motherfucker for one more second he swore he might end up strangling him. 

"Yeah, almost like it's my song, _"_ Colsoncut in, folding his arms as he stepped into Marshall's space. The vocalist huffed out a sardonic laugh, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

"Are you fuckin' serious right now? You forget this isn't the Colson Baker show?" 

"Why are you being such an asshole?" the guitarist snapped.

"Alright!" Paul shouted from the other side of the glass. "Go- Just go take ten. Please. Jesus Christ."

"Eat shit, Baker," Marshall muttered under his breath, making sure to shoulder check Colson on the way out to the hallway.

No one had gotten under his skin like this since Kim. His first love. The girl he'd been willing to give up everything for. At one point, his wife. When he'd caught her fucking one of his security guards in their bed, something inside of him snapped completely. Marshall could barely remember what happened that night. Just the sight of blood, and a lot of it. His lawyers had been able to make the dispute go away with a fat check from the band's record sales, but the rockstar's near imprisonment wasn't enough to keep Kim from coming back for his wallet. He couldn’t help but let her back in every time. He knew he wasn’t over her yet, not that he would ever admit it. She always ended up leaving victorious after drunken one night stands when Marshall was so high he couldn't even remember what city he was in. His shoulders tensed at the memories and he tried to shake the thoughts from his head. The pain she caused him was something that lingered permanently. No matter how much he tried to chase it away with booze or pills, he knew he wouldn't ever be himself again. Sure, they'd fought. A lot. When it really came down to it though, she had a grip on Marshall’s heart. The divorce had fucked with his head far too much. Not only did he lose his wife, but he lost a lot of himself. Kim was his other half and he felt empty without her. He'd let himself be vulnerable and was blindsided by love. Letting Colson get close to him was clearly a setup for a similar experience. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Marshall's fingers twitched, desperately reaching at empty pockets for a smoke out of habit. Fuck, he needed to get something else in his system. The booze wasn't enough anymore, especially when everything felt so overwhelming. Marshall just needed everything to stop for a while. He didn't even want to think about what had happened in the bathroom with Colson. It didn't mean shit. 

It didn't mean _shit._

What the hell was he supposed to do? Colson clearly either didn't remember or didn't want to. Marshall wasn't exactly about to bring it up. Wasn't gonna get down on one knee and propose to that douchebag guitarist and then pretty himself up for their big gay wedding. He didn't give a fuck about him. 

Large hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him through the nearest doorway, yanking Marshall from his thoughts. 

"Get ya fuckin- what the hell, asshole?!"

He heard the click of a pull-cord switch before light flooded the room, revealing it as a small storage space for the studio's old equipment. Colson was leaning against one of the shelves, an irritated expression crossing his face. "What's your problem today man? You're being a total bitch- like worse than that stripper in Miami" he remarked, slightly out of breath. He must have jogged to catch up to Marshall, despite his drunken state. "Is this about the bar?" 

" _The fuck_ did you just say to me?" the vocalist hissed, shoving hard at Colson's chest with both hands. No way was he gonna let this prick walk in here and hold that over him. Especially with how much he'd clearly enjoyed it. Marshall backed the taller man against an old control panel with a few more merciless shoves, ready to throw the first punch if it meant getting the brunette to stay silent about the ordeal.

Long fingers reached out quickly, wrapping around Marshall's throat and squeezing. Regaining his balance, Colson forced himself into the other man's space, looming over him.

"I don't know what your fuckin' problem is, but you better calm down right now," the guitarist spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm not letting go until I know you aren't gonna swing at me."

Marshall's chest heaved at the sudden lack of air. He glared at the taller man with a clenched jaw, resisting the urge to spit in his face. He'd never seen Colson like this. The blonde stayed silent as he struggled to ignore the way the hand around his throat made his cock harden. His face twitched in annoyance as the guitarist touched their foreheads together, staring down at Marshall's lips. The guitarist paused and inhaled sharply, as if he were considering something for a moment, then leaned in and softly pressed his mouth to Marshall's. The hand on his throat relaxed and moved upward to stroke along his jaw. Marshall froze, his mind flashing between wanting to push Colson away and beat him bloody and wanting to pull him even closer to get the brunette's hands on his ass. He didn't have time to decide because the other man was already moving away from him.

"I didn't mean to take off. In the bar, I mean. It was- I just freaked out," Colson breathed softly. "And you're right about what I said back there. I'm...sorry. For acting like that."

Marshall swallowed, processing the guitarist's words. Rarely did the words "I'm sorry" ever slip from his mouth. His eyes lingered on Colon's face, searching for any sign of dishonesty, for a reason to lash out. Instead, he found himself staring at someone who'd always had his back. Especially when they were just starting off together in the music industry. Whether it was punching out the pervy old men who'd gaze at Marshall's body in clubs for a little too long, or helping him get sober before an interview to get Paul off his ass, Colson was always right there. Marshall couldn't bring himself to admit it, but if anyone knew him, it was Colson. That didn't matter now, not after what had happened in the bar. It was too risky to get involved with feelings and he couldn't afford to slip again, not after nearly being locked up the last time. 

"You're a total dick," Marshall spoke after a few moments, lacking any malice to his words.

"I know," Colson grinned. 

"Don't pull that shit again," the blonde added, cocking a brow at the taller man. His lips twitched in an attempt to hide a smile.

"You got it Em."

Marshall found himself throwing his arms over Colson's shoulders to kiss him once more, pulling the taller man down to his height and coaxing his warm tongue into his mouth. The guitarist let out a groan, hands settling on Marshall's body and pulling him close while he tugged at the vocalist's bottom lip with his teeth. Marshall felt Colson's smirk against his mouth as he tugged at his dark mess of hair. 

"What're you so smug about?" Marshall muttered between kisses, subtle annoyance in his tone.

"You're just so _easy_ , baby," Colson teased.

The vocalist would have hit Colson if it weren't for the way he tenderly pressed a kiss beneath the bolt of Marshall's jaw, sliding warm palms up his waist. 

A loud pounding on the door separated the two, and they raced to catch their breath with wide eyes as the door swung open to reveal their drummer Rook. 

"Dude, what the fuck are you doin' in here? You wasted like, half an hour of the session. Paul was worried Marshall killed you and was deciding where to hide the body," he snickered at Colson, shaking his shaggy bangs out of his eyes. "No offense man," he added, shooting a look in the blonde's direction 

Marshall cleared his throat, trying to hide his blush by rubbing at his face. That was so fucking close. They couldn't keep doing this. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice of their band and it sure as shit wasn’t worth letting himself get hurt again.

"Nah, we uh...we worked things out," Colson covered, reaching over Rook's head to open the door fully. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Marshall was coming before following their bandmate out. Worked things out huh? That was one way to put it. The drummer seemed to believe him, as he and Colson were already playfully bumping each other down the hallway, hyped up about some girl they'd DPed in San Francisco last week. Marshall scolded himself internally for finding the stupid grin on Colson's face _cute_. There shouldn't have been anything appealing about Colson. He was gangly, clingy and it seemed like the only thing floating around in his skull were thoughts of tits and a step-by-step tutorial on how to roll a joint. He always hogged both bunks on the right side of the tour bus and when he brought chicks back to the hotel rooms they shared, he never gave Marshall the courtesy of knowing before he walked in. Everything about him was infuriating, but he'd somehow wiggled his way into the still-tender hole where Marshall's heart should've been. 

As they stepped back into the studio, Colson gestured an emphatic thumbs up to Paul through the glass. The producer looked extremely unimpressed with their antics, but at least they'd made it back this time. Three months ago one blow-up would have brought the whole session down. 

"Roll the goddamn tape," Marshall snarked, sliding his headphones back on. The last thing he wanted to do right now was sing about his ex, but they'd already wasted enough of their studio time today. His jaw tensed as he started in on the first verse. 

_"I know a thing or two about her_

_I know she'll only make you cry"_

The blonde tried not to think too hard about the nights he'd spent alone, penning this song for Kim, knowing she wouldn't give him a second thought. It felt like a knife to the gut every time he sang the words aloud.

" _She'll let you walk the street beside her_

 _But when she wants she'll pass you by_ "

Wasn't that the truth? Sure she'd loved him, but only when it was convenient for her. One too many nights away from each other was all it took for her to decide he wasn't good enough. 

" _Everybody says she's lookin' good_

 _And the lady knows it's understood_ " 

Marshall watched Colson as he started on the backing vocals, earning a smile from the taller man. He nodded, waiting for their count and then-

" _Strutter_!"

Fuck, they actually came in at the same time. This had to be their best take this session, without a doubt. Marshall let himself get lost in the song, shoving his middle finger in Colson's face when the guitarist sidled up to him. This was more like it. They always screwed around in the studio, it's what made their shit feel so genuine.

As the last bars of the song flooded Marshall's headset, his attention turned to the clapping from outside the glass.

"That's definitely our take. Well done, boys. You nailed that," Paul commented, leaning into the control panel's mic.

Relief flooded Marshall's system. Finally. The last thing he needed was to spend three more hours in the studio. He felt Colson's hand clap him on the back and he turned to look up at the guitarist, unsure of what to expect.

"I'm gonna take my girl out for a spin," Colson smiled, referring to his Harley. He shook the keys as he headed towards the door, keeping eye contact with Marshall. "See you back at the hotel?"

"Yeah man," Marshall agreed, brow creased at the far-too-casual tone of their conversation. "See you."


End file.
